


A Link to the Past

by TanyaReed



Category: Relic Hunter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is another story from 2007.  It was in response to a challenge to write Nigel at sixteen (since a group of us had just finished Sydney at 16 stories).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Link to the Past

Nigel didn't know what made him go into the little antiques shop. Normally, he loved browsing through history, but on that afternoon, he was supposed to meet his brother for lunch. Even so, when he passed by the window, something called to him, and he had to stop.

It wasn't very impressive from the outside. Stuck between two buildings, it had the look of being perpetually squashed. The little windows were so dusty that you could hardly see in, and the gold letters on them were so cracked and faded that they were hard to read.

As he stood there with his face almost pressed to the glass, Nigel frowned. Why did he have a crazy impulse to check out this store when he was already late? He shifted restlessly from foot to foot before making up his mind.

There was a bell above the door that tinkled jarringly as he walked in. The atmosphere inside was dark and gloomy. The small room smelled heavily of dust. It also smelled of something else. History.

That thought drove every bit of urgency he had about meeting Preston out of his mind. He'd been in antique stores before, but this one felt different. Despite the cough that threatened his throat, Nigel suddenly felt completely at home. The familiarity of a feeling he had been desperately missing brought tears to his eyes, and they burned from more than misplaced dust.

Nigel stepped deeper into the room, his eyes going to several things his studies had told him were extremely rare. He ached to touch them, but he feared his clumsiness.

“Can I help you?” 

A melodious voice reached him, and he squinted to see an old fashioned counter across the room. Behind it stood a large woman with graying hair and a sharp, hawk-like nose.

“No...no, thank you,” he said shyly; he hated when salespeople took notice of him, “I'm just looking.”

“Look all you like, and feel free to ask questions.”

“Thanks. I will.”

He began browsing in earnest, heartened by the owner's blessing. It wasn't often a teenager was welcomed so warmly into a shop. Usually, when he went shopping, he could feel suspicious eyes boring into his back between his shoulder blades.

There were many interesting finds. Some of the things for sale were so old and so priceless, they were more relic than antique.

He was looking at one such artifact when something on the wall caught his eye. The breath caught in Nigel's throat. As if on a tether, he weaved among the wares, making his way to the object that fascinated him more than anything else in the shop.

It was a sword.

Old and nicked, it had seen battles. Even so, it was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The blade was wonderfully etched with a simple swirling pattern. Despite its age and obvious well use, there was no sign of rust. Someone had cared for the weapon deeply. The hilt was practical and unadorned, its only affectation a slight swirling around the pommel that matched the deeper and slightly more elaborate etching Nigel noticed first. It was the kind of sword a proud man, one who cared more for his ability to defend himself and others than appearances, would wear. 

Nigel felt his stomach clench and a longing to hold the sword tingle his fingertips. For the first time in six months, he let himself remember.

XXX

“And Sir Nigel the Brave drew his sword!” Dad said excitedly, his brown eyes dancing. He put his hand to his hip and pretended to do the same.

Nigel sat on the living room floor, watching his father with awe and wonder.

“Then he swung the mighty sword...”

Dad swished his arm through the air. Nigel couldn't remember ever seeing him look so excited or so happy. His arm swished back the other way, coming perilously close to the lamp Mum owned that was taller than Nigel.

Mum stood close. Though her arms were crossed, a smile was on her face.

“The demon Belisle became afraid because he knew he could not beat the mighty knight, not when the knight brandished his magic sword and gauntlet. Still, he had to try because failure would mean his death.”

Dad whirled quickly. “The swords me...”

As he said this, he teetered a little too close to the lamp, and his hand hit it heavily.

“James, watch out!” Mum cried out, but there was laughter in her voice.

Dad stumbled and reached for the the lamp with fumbling fingers. The lamp swayed, and Nigel had a moment of panic as he wondered if he should move out of the way.

Mum leaped forward and added her hands to Dad's. After a bit of struggle, the lamp righted and Mum was standing in the circle of Dad's arms.

“Now, this is a prize worthy of a great knight.”

Mum leaned forward to kiss him lightly, her blond hair brushing across his face.

“Ewww!” Nigel exclaimed because Preston would have, but really the sight made him feel like he was in a safe world filled with love.

At his comment, his parents broke apart grinning.

“I never have to be afraid,” Mum said, “Not with three strong knights to look after me.”

Nigel didn't think Preston was much of a knight. His brother reminded him more of a stern professor. 

Mum added, “Though I'd appreciate it if they minded the lamps.”

Dad laughed at this and winked at her before asking Nigel, “Now where was I?”

“Sir Nigel and Belisle were just about to fight,” Nigel reminded him eagerly.

“That's right. The swords of Sir Nigel the Brave and the evil Belisle met with a resounding clang. The monks cowered in terror...”

XXX

“Do you like the sword then?”

Nigel jumped as the sudden voice jerked him out of his memory.

“Oh, yes,” he admitted, turning to see the proprietor standing beside him.

“That,” she told him, “is a very special sword, though not one in a hundred would notice. Most like bejeweled swords with pristine, untouched blades. You see the quality in its forging, don't you, lad? You see the strength and character deep within. What would shatter a lesser blade would fall against this one. Its simple guise hides the stout heart within.”

“It's beautiful.” She beamed at him when he said this so he hastened to add, “But I'm afraid you won't get a sale from me. I can't afford it.”

The woman's hand was surprisingly gentle as she lay it on his shoulder briefly.

“Oh, I knew that. Still, the summer is almost upon us. I imagine a sturdy lad like yourself might be looking for a summer job. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I need someone to do the lugging for me. If you'll work for me, I'll pay you a fair wage, and when the summer's over, you can have the sword.”

Nigel's mouth fell open. To own the sword that immediately brought warm and gentle memories of his parents—memories that, in the past six months, he had thought he lost? He'd give up more than a summer for that.

“But...you don't even know me.”

A smile slowly came to her face. “You forget, lad. I also saw the value in the sword.”


End file.
